


Bumblebee

by ChuckleVoodoos



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Friends, Engagement, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 09:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4174521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChuckleVoodoos/pseuds/ChuckleVoodoos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt likes it, so he puts a ring on it. A lot of rings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bumblebee

Matt has loved the boy with the bumblebee blanket since the day he was born.

 

Matthew Michael Murdock is, in fact, born six minutes before Franklin “Bumblebee Blanket” Gregory Nelson at Sacred Heart Hospital. They are placed in cribs next to each other, alphabetical order M next to N, and when a nurse comes to check on them she is surprised to find that the two baby boys have rolled onto their sides and are staring at each other.

 

They are both beaming.

 

Everyone thinks that the two baby boys are extremely well-behaved, smiling and laughing at every little thing and never making a peep of complaint. They never whine, they never sniffle, and they never cry.

 

Then the Murdocks and the Nelsons come to take their sons home, and all hell breaks loose.

 

As soon as the two boys are out of sight from each other, both of them open their mouths at the same time and start _wailing._ The parents are terrified that something has gone wrong and rush back into the hospital. On the way they rush past _each other,_ and both stop dead when the babies abruptly stop crying and start cooing instead.

 

They are marginally reassured, and begin to head home again. A moment later, the wailing begins anew. Sure something is wrong this time, they hurry back the way they came and rush past each other _again_. The sobbing stops.

 

It takes three more repetitions of this phenomenon for them to put it together. They carefully step closer to each other and hold out the babies.

 

Matt Murdock grabs Franklin Nelson’s bumblebee blanket-covered hand and giggles. Franklin Nelson sighs happily and snuggles closer.

 

The parents decide to exchange numbers.

 

* * *

 

Matt is one year old the first time he gives Foggy a ring and asks Foggy to marry him.

 

“Love Bee.” Matt chirps. He can’t quite say Franklin Gregory Nelson yet, so he has made the brilliant invention of ‘Bee’ instead, based on the many bee-themed toys, blankets and jammies Foggy wears. It sounds much better anyway. ‘Bee’ was, in fact, Matt’s first word, followed closely by ‘love’. They’re the only words he’s said in a month.

 

Foggy’s first word was ‘Matty’, and his second was ‘more’. He uses ‘more’ to cleverly ask for anything in the world, and his adoring parents will get it for him. Food, toys, hugs—but most of all? More Matty.

 

Foggy beams and rolls over towards Matt, and Matt very solemnly holds out his teething ring. It is his favorite teething ring in the whole world, but Foggy is his favorite _everything_ in the whole world, so he should have the ring. It makes sense.

 

Foggy takes the ring with wide eyes and immediately sticks it in his mouth. Matt giggles and claps his hands.

 

“Matty.” Foggy agrees happily. “More.”

 

Matt technically did not ask for Foggy to marry him, and Foggy technically did not say yes, and neither of them technically remembers this moment later. However, a ring _was_ offered, and a ring _was_ accepted, and true love _was_ declared.

 

So it basically counts.

 

* * *

 

Matt is nine years old the first time he _remembers_ giving Foggy a ring and asking Foggy to marry him.

 

“Will you marry me, Bumblebee?” He asks, and is immensely proud of his suave and smooth delivery. He doubts any storybook prince or starstudded actor could have done better

 

“Sure.” Foggy says brightly, humming happily as he takes a bite of his Twinkie. Matt bought it for him from the vending machine to butter him up, the longest distance he's ever walked alone since the world went dark and caught on fire, and it appears to be working perfectly. It’s a yes!

 

“Great.” Matt sighs, relieved. “Fantastic. We’ll be really happy together.” He promises, and Foggy nods agreeably.

 

“Uh-huh.” He concurs, and Matt hears the cheerful chewing sounds that mean Foggy is nibbling again on his Twinkie. Matt grins—such a good investment, totally worth spending all of this week’s pocket money. “Why are we getting married?”

 

“I need you to be my emergency contact.” Matt explains earnestly. “They wouldn’t let you in to see me for ages.” Three whole days. Practically a lifetime. Foggy hasn’t left his side since, a whole month of daily visits, but those three days feel like three _years._ “And they wouldn’t let you ride in the ambulance with me.”

 

“I’m sorry. I really did want to.” Foggy says, and he sounds incredibly guilty. Matt shakes his head, reaching out to take his hand.

 

“It’s okay.” He comforts Foggy kindly. “But if I’m your husband, they'll have to let you ride in the ambulance with me, and they’ll probably give you free food.” He’s not sure this last part is technically true, but Matt will buy Foggy free food if it means Foggy will marry him. All the Twinkies in the world.

 

Foggy hums thoughtfully.

 

“More Twinkies.” He muses. “And more Matty.” Matt nods eagerly. “This is the best idea ever!” Foggy breathes admiringly, and Matt nods again.

 

“I know, right?” He enthuses. “We’ll be the best husbands in the world. Do you mind having the wedding in a church? Dad’s big on that kind of thing.”

 

Matt's big on that kind of thing too, although it's embarrassing to admit. He loves the rich smell of incense and the echoes of psalm songs—and thank god, thank god that he still has those, even if he doesn’t have the stained glass windows and the bright arched ceilings anymore. He thinks having a wedding in his church would be perfect, but if Foggy doesn’t want it, they can go somewhere else. Maybe they can go to Disneyland.

 

“No, it’ll be nice. Romantic.” Foggy reassures him. “But I’m not wearing a dress. Ick.” Matt snorts.

 

“Please. We’ll be wearing pajamas. They’re much more comfortable.” He says. Honestly, it’s like Foggy’s never thought of this before. Matt’s known they were getting married for years. This is just the wakeup call he needed to get things started.

 

He’s hoping he can talk Foggy into wearing white pajamas. Matt knows that Foggy looks amazing in white, like an angel—all soft golden hair and sky blue eyes. Foggy and his father were the last things Matt ever saw, and Matt will always be grateful for that. He’ll remember for the rest of his life. Foggy will wear white, and Dad will wear dark navy blue, and Matt will know it looks perfect even if he can’t see it.

 

“Hey, good idea.” Foggy compliments, sounding greatly impressed. “Pajamas—oh! And we can have Twinkies for our wedding cake—no, wait. You like Ho Hos better.”

 

“We can have both.” Matt offers graciously. “And pizza for dinner.” This is a rare treat, but their marriage will be a time of great celebration and pizza is clearly needed. Foggy squeezes his hand.

 

“Oh, man. This is awesome. Where do you want to go on our honeymoon?” Matt has given this careful consideration. He’d thought about the zoo, and then they could ride dolphins into the sunset, but that seems a little too simple. Then he’d thought about taking Foggy sightseeing on safari, but Matt’s not going to be doing any more sightseeing for a long time and Foggy wouldn’t want him to feel left out. Really, there’s only one option.

 

“We’ll just go home and unwrap presents.” Matt’s heard you get a lot of presents when you get married, which is just another reason this is an amazing idea. “And then we can splash around in our swimming pool.”

 

“We’re going to have a swimming pool?” Foggy asks, awed. Matt nods. Of course he’s going to buy Foggy a swimming pool when they live together. Two swimming pools—one for games and one for actual swimming. And a hot tub. And a water slide. “You’re going to be so good at Marco-Polo now!”

 

Matt grins. He could find Foggy easily when Foggy was Polo before the accident, mostly because Foggy can't stop giggling and giving his position away, but now it’ll be a snap. He can already recognize Foggy’s heartbeat and breathing—Foggy won’t have to say a word or giggle a bit.

 

Matt can always find him.

 

“I’ll let you win sometimes.” Matt promises indulgently. “That’s what husbands do.”

 

“No, I can win.” Foggy argues. “I’ll hold my breath.” Matt decides not to tell him this won’t work. He’ll use it as a secret weapon later. “When do we get a pool?” Matt considers for a moment.

 

“We’ll need money to buy the pool and the house. So it might take a while.” He says, trying to break it to Foggy gently. When Foggy sighs, disappointed, Matt continues on quickly. “But I got you a ring! So that’s something.”

 

“A ring?” Foggy asks, disbelieving. “How did you buy a ring? You’ve been in the hospital all month.” Matt shakes his head, reaching over to grab the bag his father packed for him. He sticks his hand in one of the pockets and rummages around until he finds what he’s looking for.

 

“No, I’ve been planning this for months before the accident.” Matt explains. He was going to save it for the most romantic time possible, but what's more romantic than eating Twinkies in a hospital bed together? Nothing, that's what. “It took a lot of time to save up the money, but—here.” He holds out the ring. Foggy reaches out to touch it, and his hands are shaking when they touch Matt's.

 

“It’s beautiful.” Foggy whispers, and Matt nods, grinning as he carefully slips the ring onto Foggy’s finger.

 

“It’s a mood ring.” He tells Foggy proudly. “It changes color when you’re happy, and I’m always going to make you happy.” He considers, frowning. “I guess you’ll have to tell me what color it is, though.” He’d memorized the chart, but it’s not like he can use the knowledge now. He should have given Foggy the ring before his accident, romantic Twinkies or not. It’s probably the worst part of being blind, that he can’t see Foggy’s face right now while he’s wearing it.

 

“Pink.” Foggy informs him obediently. Matt sighs in relief.

 

“Oh, good.” He says, patting Foggy’s hand in reward. “That means you’re in love with me.” Foggy turns his hand so he can hold Matt’s, and Matt feels the warm, smooth glass of the ring. Foggy's hands aren't shaking anymore.

 

“Well, duh.” Foggy mutters, and Matt knows Foggy well enough to realize he’s rolling his eyes. “But it’s good to know we have a smart ring. Do you need one too? I can maybe ask Mom to take me to the store…” Matt shakes his head.

 

“I bought one for me too.” He assures Foggy quickly. “So we can match. I _knew_ you’d say yes.” He reaches into his bag again and pulls out the other ring. It feels amazing when Foggy reaches out to slide it on his finger, a perfect fit. Matt is never taking his ring off again.

 

“Pink!” Foggy exclaims happily. “True love.”

 

“Absolutely.” Matt agrees earnestly, and they spend the next hour holding hands and playing with the rings, talking about the details of their upcoming nuptials. They’re just discussing what kind of pets they’re going to have in their new house—Matt wants Tasmanian devils and Foggy, predictably, wants bumblebees—when Jack Murdock enters the room.

 

“Sorry, training went late.” Dad tells them, out of breath and smelling of sharp sweat. “You kids do okay without me?” Matt nods immediately, holding up his hand to show his father the ring. He hears the rustle of clothing as Foggy does the same.

 

“Dad, Foggy and I are getting married.” Matt tells him, excited. “I need you to be my best man.” There is a long silence, and then Matt’s dad sighs.

 

“Jesus Christ, Matthew.” He mutters, shoes squeaking as he moves further into the room. “You don’t waste any time, do you?” Matt frowns.

 

“What’s the point in waiting?” He asks, a little put out by his father’s lukewarm reaction. “We love each other, and Foggy needs to ride in the ambulance with me.” Dad sighs again.

 

“You’re not going to need another ambulance.” He states tightly, and Matt shrugs. Obviously that's the way he wants things to play out, but his father taught him to always be prepared.

 

“Okay. We still love each other.” He points out. “And that’s the part that matters.”

 

There is another long silence, and Matt hears his father swallow hard, the bed dipping as Dad sits down next to them.

 

“Yeah.” He agrees quietly, voice thick. “That’s the part that matters.”

 

Matt wishes he hadn’t said it. Dad gets really quiet and sad when he’s thinking about Matt’s mother. Matt doesn’t remember her well—all he remembers is shouting, and someone holding a blue suitcase and not saying goodbye. That’s all he needs to remember. Matt has his dad and he has Foggy, and that’s all he needs.

 

“So, you _will_ be my best man?” Matt asks tentatively, not wanting to make his dad more upset but needing to know. His dad laughs, a little bit of dampness in the sound. Matt hopes he’s not crying.

 

“Yeah, Matt. I’ll be right there with you the whole time.” Matt sighs in relief. His dad doesn’t sound sad anymore. He sounds proud and happy. “I probably should have seen this coming.” He adds to himself under his breath. Of course he should have seen it coming, Matt thinks with a tinge of fond exasperation. Dad's seen them together and he'd been a very good best man and helped Matt pick out the rings. What, did he think they were  _friendship_ rings? Please. Who would be silly enough to use that excuse?

 

“It’ll be great.” Matt tells him. “You can even come on our honeymoon.” His dad makes a strangled choking noise.

 

“Honeymoon? You’re _nine years old_. You should not be thinking about a _honeymoon_!”

 

“We’re having it at our fancy new swimming pool." Foggy entices. “There will be pizza.” Matt’s dad laughs again, no more wetness in the sound.

 

“You kids dream big, don’t you?”

 

Matt strokes his ring and nods. It’s a dream come true.

 

* * *

 

Jack Murdock doesn’t have a penny to his name when he dies, but he has two boxing champion rings and he leaves them both to Matt.

 

Matt knows one of them is for Foggy. ‘You’ll be great together', his father had said. ‘Take care of each other, no matter what', he had said.

 

‘Keep dreaming big, kid.’

 

Foggy takes the ring without a word and doesn’t let go of Matt’s hand for the whole funeral service.

 

His father won’t be at their wedding, but he’ll always be Matt’s best man.

 

* * *

 

Matt keeps the champion ring in his bedside drawer. It hurts to feel it sometimes, the heavy weight of the metal and the memories. He only takes it out for special occasions, when he needs to remember that his dad loved him, and he loved Foggy too.

 

Foggy doesn’t wear his champion ring either, but Matt knows he still has it. Matt wonders if it hurts too much for him to wear, just like it does for Matt.

 

Matt never takes off the mood ring—it’s all the good times, the times when everything was right and Matt knew it always would be. He wears it until he can’t fit it on his fingers anymore, not even the pinky. Then he takes it off and puts it on a fine chain, and he wears it around his neck where Foggy can’t see.

 

He’s not sure Foggy _has_ his mood ring anymore—Matt doesn’t feel it on his fingers when Foggy takes his hand to lead him. He probably lost it, Matt thinks with a pang of regret. Or maybe he threw it out.

 

They stop talking about getting married at eleven years old, when Matt discovers that other kids don’t always like two boys being together. They tease them, and Matt hates the times he hears Foggy sniffle and stutter, so Matt doesn’t mention it anymore. The teasing stops when Matt stops talking about it, so he grits his teeth and talks about cute girls instead. He flirts and dates and makes sure that no one sees the ring around his neck.

 

Matt’s good, he is, until Marci.

 

Marci likes Foggy. Her heartbeat speeds up when she sits next to Foggy in class, and she does the thing where she drops her pencil and has Foggy pick it up for her. And Foggy doesn’t seem to notice, which is convenient, but no one can be that oblivious forever.

 

Matt very narrowly avoids letting Marci asking Foggy out for Valentine’s Day. He makes Foggy promise to celebrate being single with him before she gets a chance, and when she finally insinuates that she wants to give Foggy a lot more than chocolate, Foggy tells her cheerfully that he’s already got plans, sorry, but he’s totally cool with the chocolate part.

 

“Figures.” Marci mutters, and Matt grins at her. Sabotage successful.

 

They actually _do_ spend Valentine’s Day together to celebrate being single, and they buy chocolate-covered strawberries and cheap champagne. It’s a good night.

 

“We should just get married.” Foggy tells him, two bottles of cheap champagne and three boxes of chocolate-covered strawberries in. “We’re probably going to be single forever, so we might as well be single together in holy matrimony.”

 

Foggy is more than a little buzzed. Matt’s been more careful, only drinking half a bottle, but he’s still a tad tipsy so this seems like an even better idea than it usually would.

 

“Absolutely.” Matt agrees, hopefully not too eagerly. “Great plan.” He toys with the mood ring for a moment when he hears Foggy rummaging around for another box of berries, then tucks it quickly back into his shirt before Foggy can notice.

 

“Should I be Murdock or should you be Nelson?”

 

Matt has to bite back the automatic ‘Murdock, definitely, no doubt about it. You’ll be the best Murdock in the world. You were _meant_ to be a Murdock. Foggy Bumblebee Murdock sounds like bells in my head, the most beautiful name in the world.’

 

“Whatever you want.” He deflects gently, and Foggy hums thoughtfully.

 

“Matt Nelson.” He pauses. “Foggy Murdock. They’re both so good.”

 

“Yeah.” Matt could deal with being a Nelson if that’s what Foggy wanted. Foggy absently pushes a strawberry into Matt’s hand as he thinks. Matt takes an obedient bite, waiting for Foggy’s answer.

 

“Your dad would want me to be a Murdock.” Foggy says quietly, and Matt’s breath catches in his throat. “So I’ll be a Murdock.”

 

“He _would_ want that.” Matt tells him honestly, voice thick. Dad always thought of Foggy as family. He’d called him ‘son’, and when he was teasing them he’d called him ‘son-in-law’. He loved Foggy as much as Matt does, and Dad was a Murdock, through and through.

 

“I like it.” Foggy says, pensively. “It sounds good. We can be Murdock and Murdock, attor—attavo—“ He huffs, clearly struggling on the word. “Avott— _avocados_ at law, partners and _partners_.” He giggles at the play on words, and Matt grins at him indulgently. Totally drunk, but they will be. They will be the _best_ damn avocados.

 

Matt had thought that Nelson and Murdock sounded good, but Murdock and Murdock? Sounds amazing.

 

And yeah, Foggy’s probably not even going to remember this in the morning, what with how much he’s had to drink, but that’s okay. It might work subliminally, sitting in the back of his mind. When Matt finally gets the guts to ask him to marry him the right way, Foggy will have the vague impression of agreeing before and it’ll seem like a better idea.

 

“Oh! I need paper.” Foggy exclaims suddenly. Matt blinks as he hears the sharp squeak of bedsprings as Foggy stumbles to his feet, flame swaying in Matt’s senses just a little as Foggy stumbles his way across the room. _Totally_ drunk. Matt hopes he doesn’t trip.

 

“Why do you need paper?” Matt asks, amused by Foggy’s cursing and clumsy rummaging.

 

“Aha!” Foggy cheers, the rustle of paper loud in the room. “I need to write my vows.”

 

“Vows.” Matt repeats faintly. “You want to write me vows?”

 

“Totally.” Foggy enthuses. “I have so many good ideas. I need to tell the world how awesome you are.” He thumps back down on the bed, and Matt hears the scratch of a pen as he starts writing. It’s quick, no hesitation, and Matt wonders if Foggy’s thought of this before. He hopes so.

 

“I should write you some too.” Matt points out, and Foggy wordlessly stuffs a piece of paper into his hand, pen never stopping its movement for a second. Matt grabs a pen for himself.

 

Foggy knows that Matt can write well. He knows about Matt’s senses—Matt hadn’t even thought about not telling him when Foggy came to the hospital that first time. Everything was new and scary, and he had to talk to _somebody_ about it. Dad and Foggy had gotten him through it, doing all kinds of exercises to get Matt used to the overwhelming new sounds and smells and feelings. They’d gotten him softer sheets for his hospital bed and brought in things for him to touch and learn textures, and they’d practiced speaking at different volumes until Matt could learn his limits.

 

Foggy had given Matt his favorite bumblebee plush toy, and Matt hadn’t slept one night without it in the hospital. Foggy had gotten the bumblebee when he was a baby, and Matt remembers it being there for his whole life. He remembers every inch of that bumblebee, every bit of faded fluff and sparkly wings. It was the first texture he learned by heart, and he still keeps it in the bottom of his dresser at the dorm. He doesn’t sleep with it anymore, but he still pulls it out and runs his fingers over it when the world gets too rough.

 

And Foggy had never thought it was weird, not the senses and not the bee. Neither had Matt’s dad, and that helped. That made Matt realize it wasn’t weird either. He was different, but that wasn’t a bad thing. He’s never told anyone else, but why would he? Foggy and Dad were the only ones who needed to know.

 

So Foggy knows about the way Matt can read, not just Braille but _words,_ the impressions from applying pressure with the pen, the little indentations, and the slightly changed texture where the ink spreads into the paper. Matt can’t do it in public, but in private it’s fine. It’s normal. He knows every loop and dash of Foggy’s handwriting by heart.

 

Matt considers, twirling the pen through his fingers. This needs to be perfect. He’ll be using these vows eventually, he hopes to the high heavens, so they need to communicate how much he loves Foggy and how perfect Foggy is.

 

He writes about Foggy’s laugh and gentle hands, the way he hums when he’s thinking and ruffles Matt’s hair when Matt makes him laugh. He writes about how warm and soft Foggy is, and how clever, and how Matt’s been in love with him since as long as he can remember, and probably before.

 

He writes about mood rings.

 

“You done?” Foggy asks after a few minutes, and Matt nods. “Great. Switch.” There’s a whisper of paper and Matt realizes with a jolt of horror that Foggy wants to read what Matt wrote.

 

It’s too much. Right now it’s still almost a joke, something fun for two friends to do. If Foggy reads Matt’s vows, he’ll know it’s not a joke anymore. Matt’s written six pages about how beautiful Foggy is, and more than a few incriminating sentences detailing what Matt wants to do to him when Foggy says yes. A lot of them are not safe for work.

 

“No, no.” Matt denies hastily. “They need to be a surprise. That’s how it works.”

 

He’ll let Foggy read them later, when (if) they’re writing out the wedding invitations. Foggy needs to be prepared. There’s no way he’s ready to hear what Matt wrote on page three, involving whipped cream, chocolate sauce and handcuffs. And they should probably kiss before Matt brings up page five, which details how many different _ways_ Matt wants to kiss him. Lick, suck, worship.

 

Matt thinks if the lawyer thing doesn’t work out, he can probably begin a lucrative career writing erotica.

 

“You’re right.” Foggy agrees pensively. “Okay, on the wedding day then. I’ll hide this—don’t go looking for it.” He orders firmly, shaking the papers with a dry shuffling sound, and Matt nods. He’s willing to wait. If Foggy’s hiding it, that means he’s keeping it—more subliminal reinforcement, and maybe if he reads it later he’ll have an epiphany.

 

Foggy wrote four pages—Matt hears the paper rubbing together. That’s got to be a good sign. Sure, it might be rambling and not in complete sentences, and the writing’s probably wobbly from the drinking, but it’s still four pages.

 

“Fantastic.” Matt tells him happily, shifting to tuck his own papers under his pillow. He’ll hide them later when Foggy’s asleep. As he moves, his mood ring slides against his skin and a brilliant idea hits him. “Oh, ring! I need to get you a ring.”

 

Matt loves the idea of Foggy wearing a ring for him. It’s always been something he wanted, and he’s not sure if it’s just because he likes giving Foggy things or if it’s because Matt might be, at times, just a _little_ possessive. Just a little, just enough to warn people off. And maybe Foggy got rid of the mood ring, and maybe he’ll get rid of this one too, but Matt will keep giving him rings until he finds one that Foggy wants to keep.

 

But this was spontaneous. Matt doesn’t have one ready this time, but he needs to strike while the iron is hot. Foggy _will_ wake up with a ring on his finger, even if he doesn’t know how it got there. Subliminal reinforcement.

 

“One more sip. Just maybe. Tonight is a night to celebrate!” Foggy exclaims, and Matt hears the merry pop of another champagne cork. Foggy tosses the cork to him, knowing Matt will catch it, and Matt fiddles with the wire winding around the cork for a second before inspiration strikes.

 

He practically rips off the wire, breaking the cork in half in the process, and begins his work. After a few moments he’s managed to twist it into a circle, which he tosses back to Foggy.

 

“Ow!” Foggy yelps, and Matt realizes with a wince that he’s managed to hit Foggy with the ring, and judging from the grumbling sounds and the sliding swish of shirtsleeves against hair, he hit him in the face.

 

“Sorry.” Matt apologizes sheepishly. “I just wanted to give you—“

 

“What a badass ring!” Foggy gasps, recovered from the momentary pain. “See, this is why I’m marrying you. You're amazing at everything.”

 

“Yeah?” Matt smiles hopefully. “It looks nice?”

 

“It’s awesome. All twisty and shiny—really fancy.” Foggy assures him, sounded very awed indeed. “I’m going to keep it forever.”

 

Matt really hopes so.

 

“Good.” He sighs happily. This is going remarkably well. He shifts and hears the soft slide of the velvet ribbon against his sheets. Ribbon on the box of berries. Huh. A terrible sort of inspiration strikes. “Do you want another strawberry? To celebrate?”

 

“Uh-huh.” Foggy says eagerly. Matt offered, he should give Foggy the box, but Foggy ate his already and Matt’s the only one with some left. And he should, he really should, but…

 

“Alright. Come here.” It really is an awful idea, and it’s definitely pushing his luck. He’s expecting Foggy to laugh and steal the box, but instead a moment later his bed squeaks and Foggy settles down, close enough that they’re brushing together at the knees.

 

Foggy’s wearing a ring, and he’s drunk, and _Matt’s_ drunk, so Matt almost has an excuse when he plucks a strawberry from the box before Foggy can grab it and reaches over, brushing it against Foggy’s lips.

 

Not going to work, stupid, dumb, too much—

 

When Foggy eats the strawberry, his mouth closes for a moment over Matt’s fingers before he pulls away, warm and wet and gentle.

 

“Delicious.” Foggy sighs. “Come on, another one.”

 

Matt reaches back into the box, eyes wide. Foggy eats another one, and then another, and Matt can’t hear Foggy’s heart over the thundering of his own.

 

Matt bites back a curse when he runs out of berries. Why did he eat so many before? He should have saved them.

 

“More, Matty.” Foggy commands, and much like every time he says the two words together, Matt immediately gives in. It's some sort of ingrained instinct, but he has no idea how it got started.

 

“I’ll buy you another box tomorrow.” He promises. Foggy probably won’t let Matt feed him like this when he’s sober, but still. Subliminal reinforcement.

 

“Mm.” Foggy agrees, sighing. “Okay. I’m kind of sleepy anyway.” He yawns to emphasize his point. “Bedtime.”

 

“Sure.” Matt agrees, a little disappointed. He’s not tired at all. He wants more berries.

 

“Cool.” Foggy mumbles. “Night, Matt.”

 

And he promptly falls over in Matt’s bed and starts snoring.

 

Matt stares into space for a moment. He should probably wake Foggy up and get him to bed, but Foggy’s already asleep. That would be rude, right? And Matt’s suddenly really tired. His head is spinning—he must have drunk more than he thought. And he’s warm and fuzzy and maybe just a _little_ nap.

 

He lies down next to Foggy and closes his eyes. Just a little nap.

 

“God, my head is killing me.” Foggy moans in the morning, still in Matt's bed. “Ugh, no more alcohol. Ever.” He pokes Matt. “How are you feeling?”

 

Foggy appears to have absolutely no qualms about waking up next to Matt, face smooshed into Matt’s shoulder. He just sits up, yawns, and goes to brush his teeth. He shuffles back into the room with a glass of water and an aspirin for Matt, then climbs right back into bed.  _Still_ in Matt's bed. _  
_

“Awful.” Matt says quickly. He doesn’t even have a headache, but he wants to have an alibi just in case… “You remember anything from last night?” Foggy hums thoughtfully.

 

“Not too much.” He admits, and Matt hears the gulp as he takes a large sip of water, then the clink as he puts the glass down. “I mean—huh. Why am I wearing a ring?” He laughs. “You didn’t let me get hitched while I was smashed, did you?”

 

Engaged, but Foggy doesn’t need to know that. Subliminal, think subliminal.

 

“Friendship ring.” Matt explains hastily. “Dorky, huh? Sorry, I was really drunk.”

 

“…You made me a _friendship ring_?” Foggy asks hesitantly, and Matt nods. “Oh.” He pauses for a moment. “Well, it’s really cool. Thanks.”

 

“Anytime.” Matt sighs, relieved. Foggy still likes it. Thank god. “Do you want breakfast?”

 

“Yeah!” Foggy cheers, and Matt only realizes what a stupid idea breakfast is when Foggy stands up and the warmth moves away. He could have had _minutes_ more of the warmth if he hadn’t opened his big mouth. “Hey, Matt?” Matt makes a questioning noise, moving to take a sip of his water. “Happy Morning After.”

 

Matt chokes on the water.

 

“What?” He gasps. Oh god, _does_ Foggy remember? They didn’t do anything, but Matt _wanted_ to and they did sleep together in the same bed. And Matt wasn’t exactly subtle with his vows and his 'friendship' ring and his slowly wrapping his arms around Foggy's waist and lying there for a half hour or so, holding him, before Foggy woke up.

 

“You know. Morning After Singles Awareness Day.” Foggy elaborates. “A night of bitter loneliness and one-night stands, followed by humiliating mornings-after. And we managed to not do _anything_ we’re going to regret for the rest of our lives. Thanks for watching out for me, buddy.”

 

Matt sighs.

 

“No problem.” He replies miserably. He's not sure if he wanted Foggy to remember or not. The jig would have been up, but at least Matt wouldn't have to hide it anymore. Matt's not so good with secrets.

 

He waits until Foggy meanders out towards the shower, and then lunges at Foggy’s bed. The _vows._ Foggy left them right on top of the covers, Matt heard it, but Foggy must not have seen when he woke up and Matt can hide them until Foggy’s ready. And if his fingers brush over every single word while he’s hiding them, that’s not Matt’s fault.

 

There’s nothing there.

 

“No.” Matt whispers, running his fingers over every inch of bare covers. Then he looks through the drawers, and then on the desk. Nothing. He’s on his hands and knees checking the floor when Foggy comes back in.

 

“You lose something, Matt?” Foggy drawls dryly, amused. Matt shakes his head quickly, sitting up.

 

“No, just—did you find any papers this morning? We were—“ What’s a good cover? “We were working on our next essay and I think there were some really good ideas.” Foggy hums.

 

“Yeah, there were some papers on my bed.” He laughs. “Weird stuff, I swear. Complete nonsense. It looked like a bunch of squiggles.” Damn it. Too drunk. Matt had let him get _too_ drunk. He hadn’t been able to write a thing.

 

“Right.” Matt mutters, numb. “Of course.” Foggy probably threw them away, just like he probably threw away the mood ring.

 

“You okay?” Foggy asks, sounding worried. “You look kind of sick. Did you need them for something?” Matt smiles, a little tightly.

 

“Nope. Not at all.” He assures Foggy, trying not to sound devastated. “Breakfast?”

 

No vows. At least Foggy still has the champagne ring. Maybe that's enough subliminal reinforcement for now.

 

Matt doubts it.

 

* * *

 

Matt decides to hold back on another ring until the time is right. Instead he gets a ring _tone._

He figures it’s safe. Foggy will never hear it since he’ll be the one calling, and it’ll be something nice to cheer Matt up. Something pretty, to match Foggy.

 

He doesn’t count on Claire.

 

Claire’s stitching him up after a long, successful night. He’s out of it, dazed and still reeling from the last punch and exhaustion, and his phone starts ringing.

 

_“If you change your mind, I'm the first in line_

_Honey I'm still free_

_Take a chance on me_

_If you need me, let me know, gonna be around.”_

 

“Who’s that?” Claire asks, alarmed. Matt groans, groping around to try to find his phone.

 

“Foggy.” He mumbles tiredly. “Partner.”

 

_“If you've got no place to go, if you're feeling down_

_If you're all alone when the pretty birds have flown_

_Honey I'm still free_

_Take a chance on me.”_

“Oh, great.” Claire sighs, and Matt hears the beep of the phone being answered. Not him, Claire. Claire has the phone. Claire is talking to Foggy. This could be disastrous.

 

“ _Matt? Sorry, I know it’s late and I’m sorry if I woke you up, but I think I figured out something we can use for the case and I wanted to run it past you. You got time?”_

 

Foggy sounds wired and a bit scatterbrained, the way he does some nights when he has too much going on in his head and too little sleep. Matt goes to grab the phone, planning to say something vague about being a bit tired tonight, but in the morning, promise. Matt will bring bagels.

 

Claire gets there first.

 

“Can you please tell your partner to stop getting himself cut up by criminals?” Claire snaps. “Just because he can take a punch doesn’t mean he can take a dozen knife wounds.”

 

Matt gapes at her, horrified. There is a long pause. Matt can almost hear the gears in Foggy's head turning as he processes this statement.

 

“ _…Right.”_ Foggy says, and Matt winces. He knows that voice. That is the voice that means that Foggy’s gone right past angry and all the way back to calm in the worst way possible. “ _Of course. You just tell Matt that I’ll be there in twenty minutes, okay? Do_ not _let him run.”_

The line goes dead.

 

“What did you _do?”_ Matt whispers, stunned and terrified. “He’s going to kill me. He’s actually going to kill me. I’ve got to go, I’ve got to—“ Claire pushes him back down when he tries to get up. Get up to _run_.

 

“You are staying right there.” She scolds. “You’ve got to be used to this by now. He sounded pissed, so he obviously doesn’t like your suicidal tendencies either.” Matt shakes his head, numb.

 

“He didn’t _know._ ” He can’t quite breathe. Claire inhales sharply.

 

“You didn’t tell your _husband_ that you were a vigilante street-fighter?” She asks, sounding appalled and furious. Matt giggles, high and hysterical.

 

“He’s not my husband.” He gasps out between bursts of aching laughter. “He’s not even my boyfriend. And now he’s not even going to be my friend-friend. He’s going to hate me.”

 

“You _just_ said he was your partner.” Claire points out, annoyed. Matt lets himself fall back on the couch, too weak to hold his head up anymore. He can’t get his body to move—he thinks he might be shock.

 

“Business partner.” He corrects her faintly. “He’s my _business_ partner.” Claire makes a skeptical noise.

 

“You have an ABBA love song as your business partner’s ringtone?”

 

“I like giving him rings.” Matt admits dimly, not even thinking about the words. It’s true—it’s just the way things are. “I _love_ giving him rings.” There’s a tip-tapping sound as Claire looks up something on the screen.

 

“He’s in your phone as ‘Bumblebee’.” She tells him, flatly. Matt nods.

 

“Favorite animal.” He murmurs. “Blanket, toy, hospital.” It would take too long to explain, but Claire probably gets the gist. “And he’s fuzzy and likes to hum. And he likes sweet things.” He explains, still feeling weak and a little dizzy. “ _And_ now he’s going to hate me. My Bumblebee is going to hate me.” He gets it out in a tone somewhere between a wail and a whisper. There is a brief silence.

 

“No way. You’re married.” Claire accuses. “Nobody calls their business partner ‘Bumblebee’.”

 

“When you meet him, you’ll understand.” He sighs forlornly. “God, you’re going to meet him. You were never supposed to meet him. He was never supposed to get involved in _any_ of this.”

 

Matt feels sick. Foggy will hate him, because Matt’s lied to him for months and he’s breaking the law, the law Foggy upholds so fiercely. Foggy will hate him, and Foggy will make Matt tell him all the things Matt’s done in the mask. And if Matt goes out again (and he will, he _knows_ he will), Foggy will figure that out too, and he’ll hate Matt even more.

 

“I’m sorry.” Claire tells him, and she sounds slightly guilty about her mistake. “But he would have found out eventually.” Matt shakes his head.

 

“No, I never would have had to tell him if I'd been careful enough. It would have been fine. And now he knows and he’ll _hate_ me.”

 

Claire tries a few more times to talk him down, but Matt can’t answer. He feels like he’s drowning in ice water, everything pressing in around him and making him feel cold and numb. Foggy’s going to hate him, Foggy’s going to hate him, Foggy’s going to _hate_ him. How will they get married when Foggy hates him? Matt doesn't want to get a divorce.

 

There’s a knock on the door—soft. Matt had been expecting Foggy to break it down, furious. Or maybe it’s just soft because Matt’s senses are going haywire, disconnected and drifting.

 

“Don’t let him in.” He begs Claire desperately. “Lie. Do whatever you have to.” He grabs at her arm, but Claire pulls away with a sigh.

 

“Matt. You can’t just run away from this.” Yes, he can. Before he can convince Claire of this, Matt hears the click of the door opening.

 

“He’s a little banged up, so be gentle.” Claire requests. Foggy doesn’t answer, and Matt hears footsteps getting closer and closer. Is Foggy going to punch him? Matt would deserve it, and maybe Foggy would feel better and he wouldn’t hate Matt and it would be okay and—

 

Foggy hugs him.

 

“Idiot.” Foggy gasps. “You fucking idiot.” His grip is tight, but he’s careful not to put pressure on Matt’s injured leg. Instead he straddles Matt’s hips and leans forward to press their foreheads together for a brief moment before pulling away. “God, Matt, look at you. You look like you’ve been through hell.”

 

Matt shifts self-consciously. He knows he’s got a few scars, a few bumps and bruises, but he hopes he doesn’t look awful. He should have cleaned up before Foggy got here, brushed his hair and put on a clean shirt, but he’d been zoned out from the anticipation of impending doom.

 

“That bad?” He asks hoarsely, and Foggy laughs, a sharp, breathy sound.

 

“No, you look great for a guy that’s been through hell.” Foggy assures him kindly. “Are you okay?” He moves a little, and Matt clutches at his shoulders, worried Foggy’s trying to get up. “Is he okay?” Foggy asks, talking to Claire now instead.

 

“He’ll be fine.” Claire soothes. “Nothing a bit of time and rest won’t fix.” Matt shoots her a grateful smile. She’d been much harsher when she was assessing the damage for him, but she appears to be softening the prognosis for Foggy.

 

“Good.” Foggy sighs, and then pinches Matt’s shoulder hard. “You _asshole._ I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about—about whatever the hell this is.” Matt winces.

 

“I didn’t want you to worry.” He argues timidly, aware of what a pathetic excuse it is. “You always worry too much.” Foggy snorts.

 

“I wouldn’t need to worry if you didn’t keep getting into trouble.” He retorts tartly. “But _no._ You have to run out and put your life in danger to—what _are_ you doing? Criminals, getting cut up by criminals…What does that even _mean,_ Matt?” He sounds terrified, so Matt smiles as well as he can and reaches up to tug on a lock of his hair. It's an action that features in his earliest memories, tugging playfully like this to calm himself down. Matt's fascination with Foggy's hair is almost as old as Foggy's fascination with bumblebees.

 

“I’ll tell you everything.” Matt promises. It’s not like he has a choice, so he might as well make the best of it. “But the important part, the part you need to remember? Everything I’m doing, I’m doing it to _help_ people, Foggy.” He urges, hoping to god that Foggy will give him a chance to explain. It’s a lot, it’ll take hours, but he can do it if Foggy gives him enough time. Foggy nods, the motion pulling at the hair between Matt’s fingers.

 

“Of course you are.” Foggy says, and he still sounds worried but not doubtful at all. “You’ve always been like that. Picking fights and beating up bullies.”

 

Matt has, in fact, beaten up many more bullies than Foggy will ever know. The moment he heard anyone say anything bad about Foggy, even across the schoolyard, Matt would wait until Foggy was out of sight and then he’d make sure the bullies understood that Foggy Nelson was _off-limits._ Matt didn’t tell Foggy about most of these fights, because telling Foggy that he was fighting would mean telling Foggy _why_ he was fighting, and that would mean telling Foggy that people were saying mean things about him and that would make Foggy sad and Matt is never, never okay with making Foggy sad.

 

So Matt had said vague things about ‘oh, I heard they fell at recess’ or ‘football practice, it’s brutal’, and Foggy is too trusting so he’d believed Matt. The bullies might have tried to tell Foggy the truth if they’d gotten close enough, but one sharp smile from Matt and they’d stayed well away.

 

“Yes, that's right.” Matt agrees, relieved. “This is exactly the same, only with mafias.” There is a brief silence.

 

“Mafias.” Foggy repeats tonelessly. “Okay. Peachy. We are talking about that later, but right now I think your friend looks hungry, so she needs something to eat. And possibly a sainthood for dealing with you tonight.” Foggy shifts to the side again, and Matt lets his hand be tugged because he wants to keep playing with Foggy’s hair. It always calms him down, and he needs it tonight. “Hi. I’m Foggy Nelson, this numbskull’s best friend.” He introduces himself wryly.

 

Claire coughs meaningfully.

 

“And his _partner,_ right?” Matt grits his teeth, but Foggy doesn’t seem to notice the purposeful inflection on the word ‘partner’.

 

“Yeah, that’s right. Did Matt tell you about me?” Foggy seems pleased with this idea, and Claire makes a noncommittal sound.

 

“He rambles when his head is scrambled.” She offers. “You like bumblebees, apparently?” Matt closes his eyes in a brief moment of pain.

 

“Yeah, favorite animal.” Foggy confirms brightly, and then pokes at Matt’s shoulder. “Are you seriously going around telling pretty ladies about my love of small, fuzzy creatures instead of talking about what a studmuffin I am? You are a _terrible_ wingman.”

 

Matt smiles at him vaguely. Truthfully, he really _is_ a terrible wingman. Foggy never quite manages to get a date when he goes out to bars with Matt. What a strange coincidence.

 

“Claire likes bumblebees, don’t you Claire?” Matt asks pointedly. Claire makes a small, incredulous noise.

 

“And Matt loves them.” She returns lightly. Matt tenses, but Foggy doesn’t pick up on the tone.

 

“Uh-huh. He always has.” He confides easily, which is true. Matt has always loved bumblebees, or at least one particular Bumblebee. “So, _Claire.”_ He says, saying the name slowly like he’s trying it out. “You want a snack? It’s Matt’s food, so eat as much as you want.”

 

“What?” Matt yelps. Both Foggy and Claire ignore him.

 

So they sit in the kitchen and eat sandwiches on stale bread, and Matt tries to put a positive spin on his nocturnal activities. He’s not sure how well he’s doing, but Foggy sits next to him and eats the crusts off Matt’s sandwiches like he’s done since they were four, so Matt thinks it might be okay.

 

Claire likes Foggy, Matt can tell from her voice and her words. She’s not interested in him romantically, judging by her heart, but she seems to find him charming in a friendly way. Matt is once again reminded that Claire is a very intelligent woman. Foggy likes Claire too, which makes sense because Foggy likes pretty much everyone.

 

It seems to be going well, and then when Claire’s getting her coat to leave she ruins it.

 

“What’s your ringtone for Matt?” She asks, somewhat out of the blue. Matt almost trips on his way to hold open the door for her. How can she be bringing this up? It’s suspicious, Foggy’s going to wonder and ask why, and what if she tells him? How is Matt going to explain ABBA?

 

“ _Honey, Honey.”_ Foggy tells her cheerfully. “It’s ABBA, way old but totally a classic.”

 

Thank you, God. ABBA. Great minds think alike.

 

Claire makes a curious sound, not quite a laugh.

 

“I don’t think I know that one.” Matt knows she’s lying, even though her heart hasn’t changed a beat. He glares at her, but she ignores it. “Can you sing it to me?” Matt opens his mouth to tell her to look it up on iTunes, goodbye Claire, when—

 

_“Honey honey, how you thrill me, ah-hah, honey honey_

_Honey honey, nearly kill me, ah-hah, honey honey_

_I heard about you before_

_I wanted to know some more_

_And now I know what they mean, you're a love machine.”_

 

Foggy has a beautiful voice. Matt’s always thought so, happy and sweet, and there’s a little lilt that sounds almost like he’s laughing when he hits the notes. Lovely. Foggy’s voice when he’s singing about Matt being a love machine? Matt’s pretty sure a choir of angels would be jealous.

 

“That’s great.” Claire tells him, and she sounds entirely too amused. “Very catchy.”

 

“I know, right?” Foggy says happily. “Totally Matt.”

 

Matt tries not to look either too alarmed or too hopeful about this statement. Claire gives a laugh badly disguised as a cough.

 

“Totally.” She agrees dryly. “Well, you two have a good night. Stay out of trouble, and enjoy your ringtones.” She clearly means it as a jibe, but Matt’s too busy being overjoyed and giddy to notice.

 

Foggy gave him a ring back. Sure, it’s a ring _tone,_ but it's still a ring.

 

It’s a good start.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, great. _This_ asshole.”

 

Damn. Matt was hoping to get this over and done with before Foggy came over. Foggy has the incredibly unfortunate habit of showing up exactly when Matt is hoping that he won’t. These times are few and far between, because Matt almost always wants Foggy to show up, but sometimes…

 

“So, Twig, how have you been? Seen any good movies lately?”

 

“You’re as punky as ever, aren’t you?” Stick asks, sounding mockingly amused. “Did you have to let in your lapdog?” He adds as an aside to Matt, and Matt’s eyes narrow.

 

“I wasn’t just going to pretend he wasn’t knocking.” Matt snaps. He may have wished Foggy hadn’t chosen tonight to check up on Matt, but he’d never ignore him because it was convenient. Foggy would get suspicious if the door was locked and Matt wasn’t answering, and then he’d either get angry that Matt was hiding or worried that Matt was hurt. Neither one is an attractive option.

 

“Thank you. That’s because you’re a decent human being.” Foggy tells Matt graciously. “ _You,_ on the other hand, are an asshole.” He informs Stick bluntly.

 

‘Asshole’ is Foggy’s second favorite nickname for Stick, the first being the mockingly pointed ‘Twig’. Matt doesn’t think he’s ever called the man by his real name (or at least his chosen pseudonym) in their entire acquaintanceship. 

 

Twig was the more popular choice when they were kids and Stick showed up with promises to help Matt understand his senses. Foggy hadn’t liked him from the beginning. ‘Total flake’, he’d told Matt. ‘Smug face. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.’ Foggy has always had weak arm strength, so this was a serious allegation.

 

Matt had been pulled in anyway. It was amazing, learning to fight the way his father did—no, even _better_ _._ Matt’s a born fighter, he needs it like the air he breathes, and Stick was a good teacher. He understood the devil in Matt, and he helped him use it. But Stick had wanted a soldier, and when he realized he wasn’t getting one, he'd left. Matt had worked for an hour on that ice cream wrapper bracelet, practicing on candy wrappers with Foggy’s help, and Stick had taken one good feel of it and _ran._

And even though Matt can’t talk to Stick without thinking of ice cream and broken promises, there’s still a sense of loyalty Matt can’t shake. It’s the sort of awe a student has for a teacher, a desire to excel and show what they’ve learned. Even though he hates him a little, Matt still wants Stick to be proud of him.

 

Foggy has no such inner turmoil.

 

“What the hell are you trying to con him into?” Foggy growls, shutting the door sharply behind him. Stick snorts.

 

“Can’t I just stop by to say hello?” He drawls sarcastically. Foggy scoffs, a harsh bark of laughter.

 

“As if. The only reason you’d show your face again is if you wanted something. That’s the way you work. It’s all about what _you_ want.” He says it spitefully, and Matt wonders if he’s remembering the bracelets too.

 

Or maybe he’s remembering Matt’s training sessions. Stick had tried to get Matt to ditch Foggy, saying that he was a distraction, but it had been the opposite. Matt was still not quite in control of his senses, and Foggy’s breath and heartbeat calmed him down. It was something to concentrate on, something to time his practice drills to. Matt still falls into the rhythm sometimes when he’s in the mask, breathing out between each hit and counting. Foggy’s heart would beat three times here, and it would be time for another punch. Now two breaths, time for a kick.

 

And eventually Stick had given up and let Foggy sit in the corner and watch, but it was clear he wasn’t happy about it. Well, now Matt knows why. Emotional attachments are distractions from the mission. Foggy’s right. Stick is an asshole.

 

Matt’s still going to help him.

 

When he tells Foggy this, Foggy is not pleased. There is a fair bit of hissed protests and heated words, and Stick just stands to the side and practically radiates smug enjoyment the whole time. He lets Matt do all the arguing, which is probably best. There’s no way Foggy could be talked around if it was Stick doing the talking.

 

“You can stay here, okay?” Matt offers finally, desperate. “That way you’ll know the second I get home.”

 

“I was  _assuming_ you’d be calling to tell me that anyway.” Foggy says tightly. “Like we _agreed_ when you finally not-told me about this whole thing.”

 

Matt winces. False step. Foggy gets touchy when Matt lets slip any mention of going out without telling him. Matt tries to keep him in the loop as much as possible, but some days Foggy seems really tired when he leaves the office and Matt’s sure it will be a slow night, and he doesn’t want Foggy to worry…

 

He’s not sure why he bothers. Foggy always takes one look at him in the morning and knows anyway.

 

“Right, of course.” Matt agrees with a bracing smile. “But this way you can know a little sooner, and you can look me over and see I’m fine.”

 

Matt’s probably going to hell for it, but he almost looks forward to when Foggy sees him after Matt’s nights out. Claire’s already patched him up on the worse nights, but Foggy doesn’t seem to think this is good enough. He’ll spend minutes at a time running his fingers over Matt’s skin to search for injuries, gentle pressure and warm hands, murmuring about how worried he was and how glad he is that Matt’s okay. Matt tucks his ring into his pocket before he comes home, and he slips his hand in to hold it tightly while Foggy works.  _Minutes_ of touching, and Matt can just close his eyes and savor it.

 

Matt doesn’t _like_ getting injured, but he also probably doesn’t _dislike_ it as much as he should.

 

“I’d do _that_ anyway, in the morning.” Foggy points out stubbornly. “Try again.”

 

Matt decides to pull out all the stops.

 

“I’d really like it if you were here when I came home.” He admits quietly. “If I knew you were waiting.”

 

“You _bastard_.” Foggy breathes, but the insult is weak, his tone defeated. “That’s not fair. You can’t guilt me. You’re the one who should be feeling guilty.” Matt bites his lip. “Don’t do puppy face. You know I hate puppy face.” Foggy orders, exasperated. Matt looks down timidly. “Come on, Matt.” Matt shuffles sheepishly, wringing his hands. “God, you’re a jerk. Fine. This is the dumbest idea on the planet, but if you’re sure you won’t get hurt…”

 

Works every time. Matt grins.

 

“Great, I’ll give you a key. Lock the door before you go to bed, okay? I can get in through the window if you’re asleep.” Matt tells him gratefully, making his way over to his room to grab the key.

 

“I already have a key to your apartment.” Foggy calls after him, confused. “Two, actually—you gave me a spare.”

 

“I changed the locks.” Matt calls back, snagging the key and heading back into the living room. He can tell Stick is still standing there, silent and judging. “It seemed like a good idea, what with…”

 

He waves vaguely around. He doesn’t really want to say ‘what with the fact that I’m messing with several different mafias and I’m a little worried they’re going to try and break into my apartment at some point, and a new lock won’t stop them but it will slow them down and give me time to plan an attack’. Something tells him Foggy wouldn’t like that explanation.

 

“When were you going to tell me that?” Foggy asks, stung. Matt gives him what is hopefully a winning smile.

 

“Tomorrow.” He promises. “I got you a tacky key ring and everything.”

 

He didn’t actually notice that he’d bought a key _ring_ until he was slipping the key onto it. Apparently Matt has a one-track subconscious mind, because it seems like all of his actions are in some way related to giving Foggy rings indicating Matt’s devotion.

 

“Oh, wow.” Foggy says, sounding grudgingly pleased when Matt slips the key into his hand. Matt hears him shaking it, and Foggy laughs. “You’re right, it _is_ tacky. I can’t believe you got me a bedazzled bumblebee keychain.”

 

“You like it.” Matt teases him, and Foggy laughs again.

 

“It is probably the coolest thing to ever exist.” Foggy admits. “Don’t think this gets you out of the doghouse, but…yeah. It’s pretty cool.” Matt sighs, relieved.

 

“Good.” This _is_ good. Foggy’s accepted every single ring Matt’s ever given him, and that’s a trend that Matt is hoping will continue. “You can take the bed if it gets too late, I can just sleep on the couch—“

 

“Don’t be an idiot, I’m not kicking you out of your own bed.” Foggy huffs. “I won’t fall asleep anyway.”

 

 _Well, maybe you could, just a little._ Matt hopes to himself. _Just enough that you’d be asleep in my bed when I got home, holding the ring I gave you._

 

“For the love of god, kiss your boyfriend goodbye and let’s _go.”_ Stick snaps, finally appearing to consider the conversation worth joining. Matt glares at him, but gathers his things. The sooner he gets this done, the sooner he can come home.

 

As soon as they’re out the door, Stick is whacking Matt over the head with his stick.

 

“It’s been twenty years, and your heart still sounds like a hummingbird on heroin around him.” Stick sounds disgusted. “Did I miss the wedding?”

 

“You’re a dick.” Matt tells him flatly, and stalks past, rubbing at his sore head. Stick snorts.

 

“And you’re a pansy.” He says bluntly. “Looks like we’ve all got our crosses to bear.”

 

They talk of nothing else but the mission after that, and when the mission goes wrong, Stick’s gone. He doesn’t even bother going back to Matt’s apartment with him, partly because he says he doesn’t want to be there for the life-affirming sex. Matt exchanges a few token blows with him for this comment, and for being a dick in general, and then he goes home to Foggy.

 

His awful night becomes significantly better when he hears Foggy’s heartbeat not from the couch but from his bedroom.

 

“Told you I wouldn’t fall asleep.” Foggy grumbles proudly when Matt wakes him up from where he fell asleep. “You were gone forever.”

 

“Just a few hours.” Matt corrects him gently. “And I’m completely okay. I also punched Stick for you.” Foggy sighs happily, silk shifting as he snuggles further into the pillows.

 

“Two awesome presents in one night. I’m the luckiest man alive.” He claims, and then yawns. “Should I get up?” Matt almost gives himself whiplash, he shakes his head so fast.

 

“No, you’re fine.” He assures Foggy. “It’s a big bed.”

 

“You sure?” Foggy asks, but Matt hears the relief in his voice, and also the heavy sleepiness. Matt nods, touching his shoulder softly.

 

“Absolutely. Go to sleep, Bumblebee.” It slips out without thought. Matt’s tired and sore, and he’s got bumblebees on the brain from the key ring, and he’s got Foggy in his bed. A slip of the tongue was inevitable. Foggy hums contentedly.

 

“You haven’t called me that in years.” He sighs. Matt remembers. He stopped at age eleven, the same time he stopped talking about getting married. Apparently other kids also thought it was weird to play with another boy’s hair and call him Bumblebee. “I like it. Matches the ring. ‘S nice.”

 

Matt has a goofy grin on his face the rest of the night. He thinks he might even be grinning in his sleep, and he knows he has very sweet dreams. When they go into work on Monday, Karen makes appropriately appreciative ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ sounds over the key ring.

 

“Matt got them for me.” Foggy brags, and Matt buries his smile behind an opened case file.

 

“Wow, really? All of them?” Karen checks, sounding impressed. Matt hears the jingle of Foggy shaking the key ring, metal sliding against metal. Foggy must have added his own keys to the ring. That’s good—they sound nice, chiming against Matt’s.

 

“Yup.” Foggy agrees, sounding pleased. “Awesome, right?” And then, despite—or maybe because of—him knowing Matt is listening in, Foggy continues deliberately. “Matt is pretty much the best person in the whole world, and he has amazing taste in rings.”

 

Yes, Matt thinks smugly. Yes, he does.

 

* * *

 

“Ugh, I’m used to being the one _visiting,_ not the one who’s sick.” Foggy complains, tin foil crinkling as he takes a bite of one of the many candy bars Matt brought him.

 

“You should have told me you were feeling sick.” Matt chides. “I would have taken you into the hospital weeks ago. Months.” Foggy snorts.

 

“Matt, it was _acute_ appendicitis.” Foggy reminds him dryly. “I was only in pain for two days.” He shifts. “And now. Definitely in pain now.” He adds, voice strained.

 

“Do you need more medicine?” Matt asks, already reaching for the call button. “Claire will give you something stronger if you need it.” Foggy huffs in laughter.

 

“Matt, I am not asking our friend to risk her career obtaining illicit drugs for my _tummy ache.”_ He chides, exasperated. “But it’s sweet of you to offer.”

 

“Claire wouldn’t mind.” Matt mutters petulantly. Claire’s been worried too. She’d been on call when Foggy had come in, Matt sprinting behind the stretcher and completely forgetting that he was supposed to be bumbling around without someone to lead him. He’d been worried he’d have to fight his way into Foggy’s hospital room, but Claire had pulled some strings.

 

“Claire is an angel.” Foggy tells him seriously. “But I still don’t want her to lose her job. We need someone on the inside. She’s the only reason they let you in so fast.”

 

“I’m your emergency contact.” Matt points out. “They’d have let me in anyway.”

 

“Eventually, yeah.” Foggy agrees. Then he hums, considering. “How did you get them to let you ride in the ambulance though? Isn’t that usually a relative thing?” Matt winces.

 

He’d been desperate. Foggy was shivering and sick and whimpering, and Matt had held him until the ambulance arrived, but they hadn’t wanted to let Matt come with them. ‘Family only’, they told him. ‘Immediate kin. The less people in the ambulance the better. You can see him at the hospital.’

 

And Matt couldn’t do that. He couldn’t just let go of Foggy’s hand and let some stranger take him away when Foggy was sick. Foggy was out cold, dead to the world and breathing labored, but he still hadn’t let go of Matt’s hand either. Matt couldn’t _leave_ him, and the paramedics wanted family.

‘Husband.’ He’d told them. ‘That’s my _husband_. I’m going with him, and if you even _try_ taking him without me, I will hunt every single one of you down and make you regret it for the rest of your lives.’

 

The paramedics had let him into the ambulance. He’s pretty sure one of them was crying after his speech, snarled low and without a hint of hyperbole.

 

“Flirted with an EMT.” He lies easily, and there is a long silence. Matt starts to worry. Was that too glib? He doesn’t want Foggy to think he was trying to score a date while Foggy was unconscious and in pain. He just wanted to sound nonchalant, but he thinks he might have just sounded self-absorbed instead. Damn it.

 

“Really?” Foggy presses slowly. “Because I heard it was because of our passionate love affair that burns with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns despite many years of wedded bliss.”

 

Matt winces, eyes wide.

 

“Who told you _that_?” He asks, trying to sound casually entertained. “It’s ridiculous.” Foggy sounds much more amused than Matt does, almost laughing.

 

“Claire told me.” He informs Matt. “ _And_ the night nurse, and the doctor who came to check on me, and the janitor. You’ve sort of become a legend. They’re _terrified_ of you. One of the paramedics visited when they found out I was a lawyer and asked if they could sue you for emotional trauma.”

 

Matt winces. Claire he might have been able to pass off as playing a trick on Foggy, but an entire hospital of gossips and a traumatized paramedic? Not likely.

 

“It wasn’t…” He hesitates, swallowing. “They didn’t want me to ride in the ambulance with you but I _needed_ to, and then I remembered…”

 

“You remembered that if I was your husband, they’d have to let you come. And they’d probably give you free food.” Foggy finishes, and he sounds so incredibly fond that it makes Matt’s breath catch, cutting short any more weak excuses he could have offered. “Yeah, I remember. _Still_ the best idea ever.”

 

“You remember?” Matt wonders hoarsely. Foggy hums agreeably.

 

“Of course. Nice job, leading with the Twinkie, but I would have said yes anyway.” Foggy tells him dryly. “And the mood ring was a stroke of genius.” He chuckles. “You should have gotten it in a bigger size, though. I haven’t been able to wear it right in years.”

 

“You _kept_ it?” Matt breathes, stunned. He’d been so sure that Foggy had gotten rid of it ages ago. He never wore it.

 

Because it was too _small_ , Matt realizes. Just like Matt’s. But he’d kept it. He’d _kept_ it.

 

“Uh-huh.” Foggy agrees. “Used to just keep it in my pocket, but now I put it on the wicked awesome key ring.” Matt can’t quite find it in him to answer, still reeling. Foggy _kept_ the ring. “I had it when I got brought in—it’s probably over with the rest of my stuff on the bedside table. Actually, I wouldn’t mind holding on to it right now, if you could grab it. It always makes me feel better, and I could use that at the moment. Ow.”

 

Matt’s scrambling across the room before Foggy even finishes talking, and Foggy yelps in protest when Matt accidentally tears out the pocket of his jacket when he’s yanking out the key ring.

 

Not just Foggy’s keys like Matt had assumed. Three rings too, jingling against each other. Mood ring, champion ring, and champagne wire ring. All cool and heavy in his hand, and Matt runs his fingers long each one, relearning every curve and crevice.

 

The mood ring’s worn down in places, little dips in the glass from time and childhood tumbles. The champion ring’s in perfect condition, saturated with the faint smell of polish and slick smoothness. The wire ring’s as rough as he remembers, a sloppy job since Matt was drunk when he made it, but it’s still got an elegant twist to it like vines from where it was wrapped around the bottle.

 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Matt asks, quiet and thick.

 

“You didn’t either.” Foggy points out. “And you only officially asked me when we were _nine._  You’ve never shown a hint of interest in guys, so I thought it was just a platonic childhood thing that you didn’t really understand. You dated _a lot_ of girls, Matt.”

 

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and I thought it would help make people forget.” Matt murmurs. “The other kids were awful to you about it.”

 

“Do you really think I gave a fuck about what they thought?” Foggy actually sounds a little insulted. “Yeah, I didn’t like being teased, but I was never ashamed about it.” He snorts. “And that was in grade school. Why didn’t you make a move after? I was sure you were completely straight, but you _knew_ I wasn’t.” He pauses. “Wait, _are_ you completely straight? Is this still a platonic BFF thing?”

 

“Not at all.” Matt assures him, much too vehemently. He grimaces. “Not…no. I was just—I don’t know. Waiting until I was sure you’d say yes.” There is a brief moment of silence. Matt sheepishly plays with the rings.

 

“So, you were going to wait to ask me on a date until after I agreed to _marry_ you?” Foggy checks incredulously. Matt hesitates, and then nods. “Matt, you do realize how completely crazy that is, right?” Matt nods again, chagrinned.

 

“I would have asked you out eventually.” Matt assures him lamely. Foggy scoffs.

 

“What, when we were ninety and toothless? We’d have to be wheeled up the aisle.” Foggy huffs, and Matt should probably take offense but he’s too busy thinking about the fact that Foggy’s imagining marrying him, even though he’s imagining them being ninety and toothless at the time. “I’m mad at you. Give me the rings—I need to calm down.” Foggy orders. Matt considers saying no, because he never wants to let them go, but if he lets them go then _Foggy_ will have them.

 

Matt passes over the rings, like he does every time, and Foggy takes them. Like he does every time.

 

Matt hears the gentle jingling as Foggy begins to slide them back and forth along the key ring absently in a soothing motion, but Matt’s hands feel empty now, his fingers restless. He grabs one of the foil wrappers from Foggy’s chocolate bars instead, twisting it into abstract shapes. He’s done it a lot since he learned making Stick’s stupid bracelet, wrapper art, and he still does it entirely too much for a grown man.

 

“But you would have said yes?” Matt asks tentatively. “If I’d asked you on a date?” Foggy sighs, jingling the rings harder. Frustrated.

 

“Matt, we’ve basically been dating since we were _born.”_   Foggy reminds him. “We had tea parties together and argued about who had to wash the dishes afterwards. We were already bickering like an old married couple when we were five years old.”

 

“You always made me wash the dishes.” Matt recalls, stung. “And you got to pour the tea. That wasn’t fair.”

 

“That’s because you were whipped.” Foggy tells him bluntly. “I thought it was _platonic_ whipped later, but you were pretty much always whipped.”

 

“I wasn’t—“ Matt stops, sighing. There’s not much point in arguing. Foggy always won about the dishes and he always wins now. Whipped. “So, that’s a yes?” Foggy huffs.

 

“A yes to the date or a yes to the marriage?” He asks dryly. Matt hesitates, and Foggy snorts. “Fine, whatever. Yes to both, but we should probably do the date thing first.”

 

It takes a moment for this to fully sink in. Yes. It’s a yes.

 

“Wait, really?”

 

“Sure.” Foggy says brightly, humming happily as he takes a bite of his candy bar. Matt blinks, getting a distinct feeling of déjà vu. Sugary bribe, marriage proposal, ‘sure’ and happy humming. If this is following the pattern of last time, the next step should be…

 

Matt twists the foil in his hands, folding down the edges, turning it over and over and pinching in the ends. He holds out the finished result to Foggy, incredibly grateful that he spent all those hours learning wrapper jewelry art. It’s finally paying off.

 

“That’s…kind of eerie.” Foggy tells him honestly. “And also kind of gay. You can just make a perfect engagement ring in under ten seconds using candy wrappers?” Matt nods proudly. “Seriously, Matt, I don’t know what to do with you sometimes.”

 

“But you do want the ring. You said yes.” Matt points out, anxious. “Right?” Foggy still hasn’t taken the ring. After a moment of worrying stillness, Foggy sighs.

 

“It _is_ shiny.” He says, like this is the most important aspect of a good engagement ring. He plucks it out of Matt’s hand, and there’s a light scratching sound as he slides it on his finger. “ _And_ it’s my ring size. That’s sort of creepy.”

 

“I guessed.” Matt protests, lying through his teeth. Foggy snorts.

 

“Right, of course.” He indulges, not sounding convinced at all. “Fine, hold on.” Matt hears crackling again, and Foggy cursing. “Ugh, it’s hideous. Thank god you’re blind.” Foggy shoves something into Matt’s hand. Matt rubs his fingers carefully over the object. It’s a ring…sort of. It’s more like a twisted, lumpy roll of foil shaped into a rudimentary loop, but it’s probably the most beautiful ring in the world anyway. “You were always better at origami than me, but you get the idea.”

 

It’s too big for his ring finger, so Matt slips it onto his thumb instead. It’s a little scratchy, but perfect.

 

“As soon as you get out of the hospital, I’m taking you on the best date of your life.” Matt promises earnestly. “We can even go to Disneyland if you want.” Sure, it might take his life savings, but it would be worth it.

 

“ _Or,”_ Foggy counters deliberately. “We could get Twinkies and Ho Hos from the vending machine right now, recreate our wonderful first date, and when I get out the hospital, we can just go home and unwrap presents.”

 

Matt gets the feeling Foggy’s talking about unwrapping a lot more than presents.

 

“Very good idea.”

 

* * *

 

Matt still has a preoccupation with giving Foggy rings, even after Foggy accepts the wrapper ring along with Matt’s sort-of proposal. He feels like he has to keep making sure that Foggy will accept them when Matt offers. That Foggy will say yes.

 

He gives Foggy his Columbia class ring, and the napkin ring that he might or might not have stolen from the first restaurant they went to as a couple, and a plastic bumblebee ring that he heard a little girl bragging about and bought off her for a dollar.

 

And Foggy takes every one, sighing with fond exasperation and putting them on his key ring, and he also adds the dozen or so other rings that Matt manages to acquire. He loves every one of them, he tells Matt, but his clear favorite is still the battered mood ring.

 

The mood ring is Matt’s favorite too.

 

‘Pink.’ Foggy tells him every time Matt asks what color it is, which is pretty much every day. ‘True love. Now stop grinning like that, you look insane.’ Matt nods obediently, stops grinning, and kisses him instead.

 

It takes Matt a while, but eventually he finds a way to give Foggy a ring every night.

 

“Matt, come on. I can’t fall asleep when you’re biting me.” Foggy mumbles. Matt smiles and bites harder.

 

“Does it look good?” He asks when he’s finally satisfied, pulling away and running careful fingers over where the skin is just a little hotter, bruise bringing the blood closer to the surface. It _feels_ good, but he has to make sure. Foggy sighs.

 

“Perfect circle, like always.” He assures Matt, tired but indulgent. Perfect ring, Matt thinks proudly. Six tonight, all perfect rings. “Did we really have to do this now? I’m going to be exhausted tomorrow.” Mat nods solemnly.

 

“You need to look perfect.” He tells Foggy, firm. “As many rings as possible. It’ll look lovely.” Foggy huffs.

 

“We’re not even supposed to be in the same room, you know, let alone the same bed. It’s bad luck.” He grumbles. Matt considers.

 

“I think it’s only bad luck if you actually _see_ your husband before the wedding.” He points out thoughtfully. Foggy snorts.

 

“Gee, thanks. Give me all the bad mojo.” He mutters. “Jerk." Matt shrugs.

 

“We can use the blindfold, if you want.” He offers, quite pleased with this plan. Foggy scoffs.

 

“It’s too late now.” He complains. “The jinx has been activated. I bet it’s going to rain. No, it’s going to snow. _No,_ I’m going to forget my vows.”

 

Matt can’t keep the smile off his face.

 

“I memorized mine years ago.” He brags. “You shouldn’t have been so drunk when you wrote yours the first time.” Foggy pinches him.

 

“You’re the one who _got_ me drunk, you manipulative bastard.” He accuses. “And do you really want me to read those in front of everybody? It was four pages of almost-illegible gibberish about Tasmanian devils and Twinkies.”

 

“I _would_ want it.” Matt informs him honestly. “It sounds wonderful.”

 

“You’re a very strange man.” Foggy tells him, but he says it affectionately. “And you are  _not_ reading the vows you wrote. It’s a wedding, not a porno.”

 

“They're a heartfelt expression of my passion for you.” Matt argues, frowning. He'd worked quite hard on them, and Foggy had seemed more than approving when Matt read off certain adult-rated ideas from them.

 

“You’d permanently scar my parents.” Foggy says dryly. “They’d call the wedding off if they heard your devious intentions towards my pure, impressionable self.” Matt rolls his eyes.

 

“Your parents love me.” He protests easily. “I’m their favorite.” To be honest, Foggy's parents are almost as overprotective as Matt is. If they hadn't known Matt since birth, Matt thinks he probably would have been facing the in-laws from hell for the rest of his life. No one is good enough for their baby boy except the boy who's known him _since_ he was a baby.

 

“That’s because they don’t know just how twisted your mind is.” Foggy mutters. “But they will if you read those vows. Just say something short and sweet, and then we can cut the cake and get the hell out of there before they try to take pictures.”

 

Matt has to admit, he’s not that invested in taking pictures, for obvious reasons. And a shorter ceremony means a longer honeymoon.

 

“I’ll just sing ‘Sweet Little Bumblebee’.” Matt offers. “It’s basically the same thing, minus pages three through five.” The whipped cream, chocolate sauce and handcuffs were about as wonderful as Matt had imagined, but they’re also probably not things he should talk about in church. Or in public. Even thinking them feels like a borderline sin sometimes.

 

“You’re an asshole.” Foggy snaps, but the tone is softened by fondness. “You are not singing. That will just scar them even more, and also probably break their eardrums.” Matt ignores him.

 

_“Sweet little bumble bee_

_I know what you want from me_

_Sweet little bumble bee_

_More than just a fantasy.”_

“Stop.” Foggy groans. “You’ll break _my_ eardrums.” He tugs gently on one of Matt’s earlobes. “You have supernatural hearing. How do you suck so much at singing?”

 

“I’m not that bad.” Matt claims stubbornly. Foggy remains tellingly silent. “Fine. I’ll just say ‘I love you’, alright? Short and sweet, just like you want.” Foggy kisses him.

 

“Perfect.” Foggy murmurs. “Come on, I think we could use a few more rings. Just to be safe.” It’s an obvious payoff, but Matt will take it.

 

“Really?” He asks brightly, thrilled. He thinks there’s still room on Foggy’s collarbone. Foggy can give him one too, and they can match just like they do with their wedding rings. Foggy sighs indulgently and runs a tender hand through Matt’s hair.

 

“Sure.” He murmurs. “More, Matty.” Matt’s favorite words for as long as he can remember. He grins at Foggy, already leaning back in to give him yet another ring.

 

“Love you, Bee.”

 

Matt has loved the boy with the bumblebee blanket since the day he was born. 

 

He always will.

**Author's Note:**

> I think this might be the fluffiest thing I've ever written. I just gave myself thirty-two cavities, one for every tooth. I don't even know.
> 
> I also don't know why I have Matt calling Foggy 'Bumblebee'. No, that's a lie, I do. Foggy is totally a bumblebee, sweet and fuzzy but capable of some serious stinging if you tick him off. Also, I've never written a story where Matt's the one with a nickname for Foggy. It's always 'Matty'. So, something new.
> 
> Also, this is a musical, apparently. More singing than talking, honestly. Sorry about that.


End file.
